Mentioned in Despatches
by SilasWhitfield
Summary: There comes a time in the life of every nation when silence becomes betrayal, and for the Fire Nation, that time has come. Political turmoil sweeps the capital city as the lower classes feel the sting of taxes designed to pay off the massive war debt. Colonel Iroh must crush the revolt at all costs, but in his wrath he skirts the thin line between justice and revenge.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

One hundred years of peace have not been as kind to the Fire Nation as one hundred years of war. The Earth Kingdom is resurgent, and their cheap exports have undercut the Fire Nation economy just as the tax rate begins to increase. Debt and poverty are endemic. Iroh returns from the front to find the rich richer, the poor poorer, and outright revolution bubbling just beneath the surface. Resentment toward the royal family that would once have never seen the light of day is now discussed openly. Iroh must fight an enemy he never anticipated: his own people.

* * *

**Author's Note** (the only one, I promise):

This is a sequel to my previous Iroh fic, Tales From The Frontier, which can be found on my profile. It is not essential that you read it first, but it will que you in on what trials and tribulations Iroh has just returned from, and who some of the original characters are.

I really appreciate it when people take time out of their busy lives to give wordy reviews, so if the inclination strikes you, spill it. You telling me what you loved and hated is what makes me that much better the next go-round. Heck, maybe I'll even return the favor.

The first six chapters are already done, and will be posted in quick succession. The rest will take me a little longer.


	2. Chapter 1: A Half-Remembered Dream

The dream was not strange. It was not vauge, or metaphorical, that was the terrifying part. It was simply a memory.

The fires were spreading. Even as he watched they leapt from one ornate roof to another, chewing over the painted wooden structures like a cobra-viper enveloping an egg with its jaw. The smoke was thick and pungent, and the screams, all too real.

A familiar face appeared at his shoulder, an old friend that he knew to be dead.

"They'll be inside the wall any minute. The men need orders." Lieutenant Zumi said.

Iroh stood before the shrine, the ghastly firelight glinting off the polished stone. He was frozen. Unable to move a muscle.

"Sir?"

Iroh's eyes flicked open.

He was lying in a huge damp spot in his bed, a warm sweat coating his skin. As soon as his heartbeat returned to normal, he swung his legs from under the covers and sat up. A breeze blew in the sliding door to the balcony which stood ajar, chilling him to the bone. He did not shiver. It was exactly what he wanted, given the circumstances. The power was only on during the day, and even then it was intermittent and unreliable. He and Asami took turns showering while the water was still hot. She snored gently where she lay, the covers pulled over her slight frame.

Iroh stood, careful not to rock the mattress, and donned his robe.

The air was brusque and chilly, about the coldest it got in this season. There were hardly any lights on, except for the flickering of a candle here and there. Similarly, hardly anyone was in the street. Not a lot of places were open nowadays. The rubble from equalist bombs was still piled up on some street corners, and the occupying UF forces were harsher than any police force the common criminals of Republic City were used to.

He felt a cold bump against his chest and reached into the robe pocket to find a cigarette case. He clicked it open, produced one, and lit it with a flick of his thumb and forefinger.

The flames from his dream were still burned into the back of his retinas. He saw shadows of them dancing along the lifeless building fronts all along the street. It had been almost a decade, but he could still remember it as clear as yesterday.

"Iroh? Is something wrong."

He turned to see Asami standing there, watching him.

"It's nothing. Go back to bed."


	3. Chapter 2: The Trial Begins

**Almost a decade ago**...

Her heels clicked smartly on the polished linoleum. She was walking as quickly as her pencil skirt would allow, a typewriter under one arm. Her feet carried her automatically down the hall and through as series of corridors. One of the doors in the hall was open, and people spilled out of it, all crowding together to try and catch a glimpse of what was inside. She stepped around this gaggle of humanity and entered another door to the right. The rich oaken panels of this room were familiar to her, but she had not time to stop and admire them, or the rich smell of the many books stuffed onto the shelves.

Her boss, an inveterate old codger with a taste for law, was not looking happy. A disappointed frown stretched his normally amiable features.

"The biggest case of your career, and you're late? Come on Sam, you can do better than this."

"I was caught up in-"

"Doesn't matter. Get out there, the judge is going to get started any minute now."

The far door opened up into a wide, arching room, with grand ornaments bedecking the walls. Warm afternoon light was streaming in the high set windows. She took her place at a desk next to the judge's platform. The judge himself was a portly man with the title of Fire Sage. This was not a requirement to become a judge, but it certainly helped. Sage Gorus hadn't taken a case in over a decade, but this one was special.

The accused sat stock still, back straight as a ramrod, staring directly ahead. He looked remarkably younger than in the tabloid photos, but that hard edge was still there, unshakable. Both the defense and the prosecution were busy pulling together their notes, briefly stopping as the Fire Lord and her entourage entered the room. The judge stood, bowed ceremoniously, though no one else did, and gestured to an empty row of seats long the far wall.

She was an imperious woman, slim and raven-haired. Sam could instantly see the family resemblance, the eyes, the nose, the way they cast each other a cold glance before ignoring one another. Satisfied that they were ready to begin, Sage Gorus banged his gavel and the whispers and scurrying of the lawyers died away instantly.

"The prosecution will now bring forth the charges."

The mayor of the capitol city stood up and approached the stand, stretching his arm slightly to set the sheaf of parchment on the Sage's desk. He unrolled it, and read aloud in a booming voice that carried the length of the courtroom.

"Crown Prince Iroh of the Fire Nation, you stand accused of multiple crimes against the people of the Fire Nation, including wrongful search and seizure, imprisonment without trial, and murder."

Sam, who had forgotten to start transcribing the proceedings after the gavel's bang, began typing in earnest.


	4. Chapter 3: The Shrine

(**SIX WEEKS EARLIER**)

It almost felt like a daydream, being back. The clouds were low in the sky, the evening sun was just the right height, and the turtle ducks were motoring around the pond, hoping for handouts from passers-by. Iroh was sitting on one of the wooden benches at the base of a small hill, at the top of which was the a shrine to the dragon's kami, his favorite area of the palace gardens. On the seat beside, Lieutenant Yang was giving him an earful.

"The first lieutenant practically runs the guard now, at least day-to-day. The captain isn't around."

"I've already taken it directly to the generals, but my mother won't allow me to dismiss him."

"But this concerns her saftey, and yours too!"

Iroh shot him a sarcastic look. His right hand reached to his waist to grasp, almost reflexively, on the hilt of a katana that was no longer there. That was another thing that his mother didn't allow. He had argued as far as one could with the Fire Lord, which was about five seconds flat. Now his swords had to remain in his chamber unless needed for training. He felt almost naked without that familiar weight tugging on his belt.

"I can take care of myself, and the palace guard can too. They don't recruit just anyone."

Yang was an old friend of Iroh's from much the same background as he. He was the most loyal person Iroh had even met, but sometimes he didn't know when to take a hint and shut up.

"Not without a good captain leading them. When the brass look at him, they see someone they can trust, but when I look at him all I see is a drunk."

"You should be careful what you say, technically I'm 'the brass' now too." Iroh said, allowing a bit of an edge to creep into his voice.

Yang meant well, and got along with the men he commanded, but he was green as grass as far as Iroh was concerned, and in no position to be rocking the boat when there was nothing that could be done about it. It seemed to work, and Yang fell silent for a moment. Iroh suppressed a cringe. He hated palace life. He hated having to work around rank and class as well as family and clan. It was all so utterly useless to him, and yet it had become his life in these past few months, and would probably remain so for the foreseeable future. That was the last thing the Fire Lord wouldn't allow. She would not allow her son to reenlist. Granting him control of the IIIV Cadre of the palace guard had been her rather lame attempt to placate him.

"The reason I came here in the first place is because I'm supposed to tell you about a war meeting."

The words didn't register with him at first, so mired was he in the prospect of not being able to return to active duty, the place he really wanted to be at the moment.

"Another one?"

"Yes." Yang said, standing up and stretching his limbs. "They're waiting in the gazebo, over by the entrance to the west wing."

"You mean it's right now?"

Yang checked his watch.

"Pretty much. I have to go."

Iroh stood up and walked in the opposite direction as Yang, shaking his head. He didn't know what annoyed him more, the fact that this was the second war meeting this week, or that Yang had neglected to inform him of it straight-away in favor of badmouthing a superior officer. It was also rather odd that they had decided to hold it in one of the gazebos. Usually the venue was more private and more spacious, like the throne room.

He passed around the base of the low hill and made his way down the meticulously weeded path. Soon he came to the large double doors that lead to the west wing, and turned right. There, in the shade of the wall, was a wooden deck covered by a roof. A small pool collected where water came through a grate choked with reeds and lily-pads, before meandering off in the form of a stream. Iroh could see four older men in uniform sitting at the table inside. When he got closer, he recognized them as General Yan and some of his undersecretaries.

He gave a stiff bow, and sat down at the only vacant seat. This hardly looked like a war meeting. He was beginning to suspect that this was simply what they had told Yang to ensure Iroh would be here. Wordlessly, Yang slid a small box across the table to him, the kind of container someone would keep a ring in. When he opened it, the twin bronze falcon-hawks of a colonel stared back at him.

"Congratulations, _Colonel _Iroh." Yan said.

Iroh looked down at the promotion, and then back up to Yan. Reluctantly, he removed the fire-lily emblem of captain from his lapel and fastened the new badges in place, all the while thinking back to Toko, and the men he had lost. Were the others receiving promotions? He doubted it.

"I am honored, sir, but..."

Yan looked incredulous.

"But what?"

"Why me?" Iroh said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "I lost 25 percent of the 422nd, and most of the vehicles as well. The town was destroyed."

"Someone else might have lost half, or the whole damn unit. Someone else might have gotten us into a full scale war with the Earth Kingdom. What you did was nothing short of a miracle considering the circumstances." General Yan said, somewhat impatiently. "Don't sell yourself short, Iroh."

"No sir. Thank you sir."

With that Yan got up and left, his associates trailing behind him and talking in low voices. Iroh sat at the bench for a while longer, turning the captain's emblems over and over in his hand. They were still as polished as the day he had been awarded them, and they gleamed in the dying light. He thought back to Aang's funeral, how eager he had been, ready to stamp his name on the world in fire and glory. He cringed at the memory. How foolish he had been. How naive. He unclasped his hand, and deposited the rank insignia in his breast pocket.

The sun was about to set completely, and his feet carried him up the hill to where the dragon shrine lay. On the better days he could forget what happened in that lonely Fire Nation colony, but on the bad days it was as though he was right back there in the middle of that tank charge. Everything reminded him of it. The green of the grass, the slope of the hill. All it was missing was the mangled wreckage of man and machine. Bodies torn asunder, the hydraulic fluid mixing with blood in sickly patterns. The moon was already wheeling in the sky, and the stars had just begun to prick the waning cover of daylight. The sky was an eerie color, and for just this moment, it felt like a whole other world. The onyx-like surface of the shrine reflected the glow. Legend had it that Sozin's grandfather had taken the stone from a dragon's nest and had carved the words inscribed upon its surface with his own hand. Iroh didn't need to face them before he knelt and closed his eyes; he had long since memorized them.

"The price of peace is war. The wages of sin is death. The cost of freedom is eternal vigilance."

There was more, but it was written in the old tongue, and only the translation of the first three lines had survived Ozai's purge, hidden away in a vault in the catacombs. Simply saying it was enough to calm him, though he wasn't quite sure what it was supposed to mean.

Over the gentle rustle of the breeze, Iroh heard someone walking up the hill. He felt the shade strike his face as the sun was briefly blocked from view. When he opened his eyes, he saw the sun setting behind a face that took his breath away.

He had seen her now and then, a daughter of one of the dukes in his mother's court. The Zhao family was old, and powerful, and their daughter was... strikingly beautiful. The wind caught her silken robes, giving her the appearance of a freshly blossomed flower. He didn't know whether stay or go. He turned around and sat facing down the hill as he always did, leaning his back against the warm stone. After a moment, her lips stopped moving, and she opened her eyes. His skin prickled slightly, as though her gaze was a physical sensation. She turned and sat in similar fashion. Iroh continued to gaze away to the south.

"I do not wish to disturb you."

"You aren't."Iroh replied.

"I was praying for good fortune. One of my sisters is about to give birth."

"Your family must be proud."

There was a long pause during which neither of them spoke. Iroh felt like he should make an excuse and leave, but something stopped him.

"What did you ask the kami for?" she said at last.

Iroh looked over. The last sliver of sun was being squeezed from the horizon. Her eyes were a shade of blue as light and clear as a mountain spring.

"I didn't ask them for anything. It's not often that they see fit to grant my requests."

Instead of being dissuaded by this remark, she smiled.

"If you don't make any wishes, none of them will come true."

Despite his nervousness, he found himself smiling as well.

"I see someone has been reading their proverbs closely."


	5. Chapter 4: Correspondance

A cool breeze blew off the water. It curled up and over the docks, where crates of fish lay unpacked and unattended. The wisp of wind was mindless, free-flowing. It did not stop to eavesdrop on the dockworkers who were crowded around their manager, talking in loud, angry voices, but zoomed away and up the volcanic slope.

It crested the ridge of the caldera and tumbled down onto the ornate rooftops and spacious balconies of the upper class. For a moment it was tangled in a Fire Nation banner, but it soon extricated itself, and, buffeted by other invisible currents, it whisked into the window of one of the palace's upper dining rooms that overlooked the gardens. A young man sat at the table, a newspaper in his hands and a pipe clenched firmly in his jaw. It was a habit Toranaga had passed on to him before he was transferred out, and he did it because it reminded him of sitting on the hard ground with good friends and going over the battle-plans one more time. In typical fashion, his mother had scorned it, calling it a crude habit befitting a peasant and forbidding him to light up in the palace. He might not have been able to have his sword at his hip, but he would be damned if he was going to let someone reach into his pocket to abscond with his pipe, Fire Lord or otherwise.

The breeze rustled Iroh's newspaper, but his eyes were not reading the words on the page. Every so often he would look down into the grassy fields below to catch catch a glimpse at that girl. He didn't even know her name, but he doubted he would ever forget that face.

"Something on your mind, master Iroh?"

Iroh glanced up to see one of his favorite servants, Jerald. He was a middle-aged man, hunched with years of service to the royal family, and while he was polite enough to the "straight-laces", as he and Iroh called the more pompous dignitaries, there was a side to him that was neither concerned with propriety nor common decency. Iroh found it refreshing, and made it a point to lounge along his habitual route as he cleaned the castle, one dusty floor at a time.

"Do you know what her name is?" Iroh said, pointing.

Jerald came to the window and followed the arc of his finger with one glistening, rheumy eyeball.

"Ah, that would be Akuzi Zhao. Her family are diplomats, she moved here from the colonies a few weeks before your return. Still have your eye on her?"

"Still? But..."

Jerald grinned at Iroh's flustered expression.

"The groundskeepers see everything, and the maids gossip about everything. Together they're an unstoppable force."

Iroh shook his head exasperatedly.

"I'll have to see if we can recruit some of them as spies. They put our own intelligence gatherers to shame."

The sweep of the broom was hypnotic, and the air, just the right temperature. Before long he had dozed off, drifting through the strange, dreamless realm of daylight slumber. He was thankful for that. As of late, his dreams had been dark and disturbingly real. Too many times he'd 'woken up', only to find that he was back on the front, the eerie lights of battle stitching the sky with terror and death.

Thankfully this time his return to the real world was prompt, although the noise that had prompted it made him jump. He leaned forward, nursing a crick in his neck. Jerald was gone, and his messenger hawk was standing on his end of the table, peering at him with feathered head tilted sideways, as though both impatient and bemused. Iroh reached out and tickled her neck, making her croon and bend forward more. He opened the tube on her back and withdrew the letter. As he sat it down on the table to read, he realized he had managed to spill pipe ash all over his breaches.

Feeling embarrassed that someone could have come by and caught him in a moment of such in-eloquence, he dusted off the ash and placed his pipe back in his pocket.

As he read the return address, his heart skipped a beat.

It was from Yana.

_Dear Iroh, I hope this letter finds you well._

_I am sorry I didn't write sooner, but we've only had access to civilization for the past few weeks, and I've been very busy. We were on the road for a long time, and when we finally got to Omashu, the guards wouldn't let us in. Eventually we managed to plead our case to an Earth Kingdom dignitary who was about to enter himself, but without that we would still be beggars at this very moment. Our original group has dwindled. Some people decided to split off when we were evacuated from Toko, and some families thought it was better to strike out for Ba Sing Se than wait outside Omashu for an act of providence that might never have come._

_I've found work as a washer-woman, and it pays decently. Life here is not easy, but it is getting better a little bit at a time. Hopefully this letter gets to its destination. I have a feeling it will, since I got a funny look from the artisan who I hired to make a copy of the royal stamp._

_I think about you almost every day, and I hope we can see each other again soon._

_Love, _

_Yana._

Iroh read and re-read the letter several times as he walked back to his quarters in the east wing, especially the part where she said she thought about him almost every day. He felt uplifted, yet strangely guilty at the same time. If there was anyone to blame for her current condition, it was him. The majority of the damage done to their village had not been from the outbreak of cave crawlers, it had been from his skirmish with the Earth Kingdom's territorial units.

At his desk, he went through several sheets of parchment, discarding each almost the moment his pen finished scratching the first line. How could he be sincere to this girl when he had essentially upended her entire life and the lives of her fellow villagers? He knew the people of Toko didn't hold him responsible for what had happened, but it didn't make him feel any less guilty.

_Dear Yana,_

_I'm glad to hear you've found a place to stay. I was beginning to worry that something had happened to you while traveling. The Earth King did not send any updates on your status, whether you'd arrived safely or not._

_Unfortunately your letter doesn't find me well. There have been many rumors of unrest in recent weeks, and they are only getting worse. The prices have gone up, and neither the merchants nor the citizens have been happy with their government. The strikes on other islands have spread to the capital, and business is at a complete stand-still. The longshoremen won't even unload the goods at the dock. The worst part is, hardly anyone will talk to me honestly about it, either because they fear my response or because they don't want me to get involved in these affairs if they can prevent it._

_I hope that when this crisis is over I can get some time to go abroad, and we can be together again, but until the ill-will towards the royal family subsides I cannot afford to be anywhere else._

_Love,_

_Iroh._


	6. Chapter 5: A Spark

(**Somewhere in the dockworker district, not far from the capital...**)

The gentle autumn sunshine beamed down upon the carefully applied polish. He turned the instrument over in his hand, taking care not to leave smudges. This was it. His proof that he was something more than the faded wallpaper and grimy windows around him might suggest. It had been his father's guitar, just like the woman lying asleep in the bed had been his father's wife. Now it was only him and her. Her rest was fitful, and her brow lined with sweat. Her pale hands gripped the blankets as though hanging onto a piece of driftwood in the midst of a crashing storm.

Akinobu's eyes fell back down to the guitar. The medicine was getting short, and he didn't know how much fever was left in her. He had put a glass of water at her bedside along with a damp towel to cool her burning forehead, but besides that, there was not much else he could do except sit and watch. At last, he could wait no longer. The morning rush would be starting soon, and that was when he made the most money. His fingers pinched the brim of his hat and placed it upon his head, legs shifting to ease his tall, thin frame off of the counter. He briefly considered waking her, but discounted it. She needed her rest.

Lilac blossoms were falling from the trees, shaken loose by the wind and carried to and fro as it shifted. A pair of coins clinked together cheerfully in his pocket. He hadn't eaten in... a day or so. Best not to think about it. There simply hadn't been enough for both medicine and bread. The steep, winding path up to the capitol city didn't slow him, not even with his stomach growling. He walked this path almost every day, going to a bench in one of the more beautiful parks in the capitol city. There he would sit down, place his hat upon the ground, and begin to play. Occasionally someone would toss a coin into the hat. More rarely, they would stop and listen.

He was running late, though, a few minutes off of his normal schedule, and the beginning of the daily migration from home to work. The wealthy and influential left their houses and walked up to the palace, or to the many shops and businesses in the districts that surrounded the capital like the spokes of a wheel. The most powerful did not leave their homes at all, or very rarely. Even some of the less fortunate, who could not afford houses near the palace, had to make pilgrimage here. There was cleaning to be done. Cleaning and cooking and sewing and serving. The rest marched the opposite way, to the docks and the factories and the warehouses where they would toil.

After some time the park and the bench rolled into view. A stream of foot traffic was walking past it, along the main cement walkway that split the meticulously manicured grass. They all had the same mute expression, and they all had city eyes. As soon as someone made eye contact with someone else, they would look away. As soon as it looked like two paths would intercept, they shifted. It was as though they were all magnetically repulsive, Akinobu knew from experience that most of them would not interrupt their comfortable autopilot to toss a coin into the hat, but it was those blessed exceptions to the rule that made him place it on the pavement at his feet. The pigeons tutted softly, snapping at their neighbors and at possibly-edible crumbs lying around.

He began to play.

It was a cheerful tune, one that he usually opened with. Something he imagined he would want to hear if he were going to another day's labor at this hour of the morning.

Nobody was buying it today.

Well, there was the one. He had almost stopped as he dropped the coin in the hat, but it seemed his feet were drawing him inextricably elsewhere. By the time he was done he was beginning to feel rather discouraged. Six coins after the first song was common, ten was good, but one? Perhaps it was because he had missed his regulars, people who passed by often. Shaking off the disappointment, he changed tack. The next song was softer, and after a few back and forth progressions it had words. Akinobu sang them slow and crooning, as his father had taught him.

_Life on the outside aint what it used to be..._

_The world's gone crazy and it aint safe on the street..._

_Oh it's a drag I know,_

_There's only one place to go,_

_I'm comin' home... I'm comin' home..._

His fingers moved up and down the neck in perfect harmony. He could have done it blindfolded.

Something was disturbing his harmony though as he transitioned into the next section. A pair of clacking footsteps, louder than the rest, getting nearer and nearer.

"What are you doing?"

His fingers stopped. The spell was broken.

He looked up to see a particularly large policeman with an unkempt, bristly mustache glaring down at him, one saucer-sized palm resting on a wooden truncheon.

"Can't you read?"

Akinobu was at a loss for words. The first question was redundant, but the second was loaded. How did he respond? The police were not particularly kind to those of his station, and anything even approaching sarcasm warranted severe... repercussions.

So he went with his old standby, politeness.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"I asked you if you could read!" The man said, pointing back down the path at a lamp post that had a notice stuck to it. "There is no panhandling of any kind allowed here."

"But... I'm not begging, I'm playing music."

"You're violating the law, and you have ten seconds to clear out before I take your toy and smash it."

Akinobu didn't allow his face to change one iota. He got up and walked back the way he had came. He didn't try to set up somewhere else, he knew that he was being watched from afar, and in any case, he just didn't feel like it today. The solitary coin slid down his hair, and he grabbed it before it fell to earth. He felt exhausted. Beaten down. It was only nine in the morning, but he felt tired. The unfairness of it all ached in his stomach, a black pit that he knew would overwhelm him if he let it.

_I guess we just won't eat today _he thought, and at that thought a tear came unbidden to his eye. It reached critical mass and tumbled down his cheek. He brushed it away quickly, but he needn't have bothered. Nobody was looking.

He was about to pass out of the arch and begin the zig-zagging road down from the extinct volcano's caldera, when the crowd ahead of him compressed into a solid wall. It was hard to see what was going on through so many bodies, but as he was forced to move backwards he realized that a large group of people were coming up the main causeway to the capitol. They were dressed as he was, in simple tunics and work shirts, and some of them were carrying wooden implements. All of them looked excited, and there was a general calamity of raised voices, both from the crowd and the onlookers as it surged past, pushing everything aside. As the bulk of the wave passed and turned left, some of these onlookers changed their courses, joining the throng to see where it was going. Among the stragglers were old friends of Akinobu.

"Etsuo, Hansuke, what are you doing here? What's going on?" He asked, falling into step with them.

"What, you've not heard?" Hansuke said, brightly. "Commisar Rabbit has been caught hoarding grain in the army warehouses. We're off to go get some of the action."

Commisar Usagi was in charge of food distribution for both the military and the civilian populace, an addition of responsibility that had been the only response by the Fire Lord to the desperate hunger now clutching the outer reaches of the capitol city. The conflict of interest inherent in the dual mandates made the dour, long-eared officer one of the most unpopular and ridiculed characters among the lower classes.

"What do you mean, 'some of the action'?"

"Come with us and find out."

The procession wended its way roughly through the streets, and Akinobu found himself caught up in the strange energy. The crowd did not seem unsure of itself, it knew exactly where it was going. They turned left and headed for the rows of warehouses that were tucked away against the edge of the city. They all bore the royal crest on a red background with two yellow bars on either side, the emblem of the Fire Nation's military. There were several workers loading a cart when the vanguard of the formation reach the gate, which was left ajar. None of the laborers appeared to be in uniform, and none of them moved to stop the crowd. The noise had increased at this point, some were chanting, others yelling. One man even rushed up to the large steel doors and tried to pry them back, but it was no use.

Akinobu turned to see a group of soldiers marching down the lane behind them, a rather rotund and infuriated man at their head, who he guessed to be the owner or some similar authority. He was shouting something obscene, but above the noise of the crowd it was impossible to tell what. A group of laborers came out to meet them, and there was an animated discussion. While this was happening the soldiers flowed around the warehouse owner and tried to push through the crowd, which formed a solid wall of flesh and bone, preventing them. There were one or two verbal warnings, and then the soldier lashed out with the blunt end of their polearms. The front of the line fell back, clutching at their stomachs and chests, some collapsing, but the blows did not have the intended result. The crowd roared and surged forward, heedless of the sharpened spear blades. Several were cut, but once they were close enough a furious melee broke out, with protestor and soldier fist-fighting toe to toe. More soldiers poured in from two directions, and the rest of the crowd split. Those who possessed the will to fight hurled stones and picked up fallen planks of wood or swung with lead pipes. The rest scrambled away, those fleeing towards the soldiers were clubbed heedlessly.

Swords were drawn. Screams were heard. Heads cracked the pavement.

Chaos reined.

(BREAK)

Lieutenant Yang's cards hit the table for the umpteenth time.

"I fold."

"Straight flush." Captain Kezo said, tossing his own hand down.

The young naval officer scooped up his wager of cigarettes and added it to his own heap, which was growing to be a small mountain. His shy, staid demeanor had been a ruse- he played for keeps. This was disconcerting, because so did Iroh, and he was accustomed to winning. Yang had a good poker face, but Iroh knew all his tells. The other two were first lieutenants in the infantry, friends of Yang's and regulars in their little card circle. They weren't very good. Iroh suspected it was because they were afraid of the consequences of beating him in five card draw, and because they were pretty drunk. Heck, Iroh was a little drunk himself.

"We're going to have to go back to betting with money if this keeps up." Iroh remarked, eyeing his rapidly dwindling reserves.

"Fine by me." Kezo said cheerfully.

One of the lieutenants shuffled the cards, and Yang wetted the bottom of his glass. At that moment, a pair of staff officers passed by them at a jog.

"That's odd," Yang said, pausing to down his shot before picking up his next hand. "you almost never see them in a hurry."

Something about it bothered Iroh, and when he glanced out of the window behind him he caught sight of something that bothered him even more.

"Is that... smoke?"

He got up and went to the window, Yang hot on his heels. A large plume of smoke was rising from the rim of the caldera, near the edge of the palace district.

"Deal me out of the next game. I have to go to the war room and find out what is going on."

(BREAK)

The war room was a press of bodies, all of them in uniform. The ceiling lights had been dimmed and the back-light underneath the map table had been turned on. In times past these discussions would have been confined to a handful of generals in the throne room, but times were different now. The army made many of its own decisions, another one of his mother's compromises that he had been less than thrilled with. The sheet that was lying on the map table was much too large for it, and on it were the streets of the capitol city, as opposed to some far=off Earth Kingdom province.

There were quite a few mumbled apologies as he pushed through the room, ranking officers recoiling as they realized whose foot they had just stepped on. At last he broke through to the map table and saluted those gathered around it. He noticed out of the corner of his eyes, that all of the generals gathered around were having difficulty looking at him. All except for one.

"General Yan, what's happened?"

The old man tapped his long nails on the table once before replying.

"There's been a break-in at a grain storage facility. A crowd of rioters managed to open the doors and steal or destroy most of the contents."

Iroh felt his heart jump, and for a moment he felt nauseous.

"Why is this the first time I am hearing about this?"

General Yan's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Because this is the first time it's happened."

"What about the strike on the docks? What about the protests?" Iroh said.

"Until now we didn't think those incidents were related. They were all treasonous, but this borders on outright war against the Fire Nation!"

"General, I want you to brief me fully, and I want you to do it right now."

Something like a spasm went around the map table, but once again the action was not mirrored by General Yan. Hands shoved into pockets or clenched harder on the edges of the table, as if to say "oh shit…"

Iroh had to suppress a smile. He wasn't afraid of any of them, a bunch of stuck up pencil pushers the whole lot. It was refreshing to get the opportunity to call the Yan's bluff despite his superior rank. He was probably the only colonel in the Fire Nation who could something like that to a general and live to tell the tale.

To Yan's credit, his expression did not change one iota.

"Yes, your highness. The scene of the crime has been secured. We should go there."

(BREAK)

He should have felt safe behind the wall of soldiers, but instead he only felt exposed, like a hermit crab plucked out of its shell. He thought back to the long weeks he had spent cloistered in the castle, drinking and wiling away the time, and all the while this was going on outside.

There was a small crowd still trying to peek over the shoulders of the soldiers to see what the spectacle was, latecomers and those that had just heard the gossip.

The building was now little more than a metal shell, its metal roof scorched black by the flames and soot. A layer of ash lined the floor where the rest of the flour was burned. Most of it had been carried off, or so he was told. The two massive sliding doors that secured the contents inside had been ripped off their tracks and tilted outward. They now lay face-down, several yards from the entrance-way, both bent and crumpled like tin cans.

Something about this did not add up. The pavement was littered with hundreds of cobblestones that had been torn out of the road.

"How long did the riot last?"

"Fifteen or twenty minutes at most." General Yan replied. "They had a plan."

"And I am starting to think they had earthbenders as well. Look at the street. Look at the doors. They did all that in fifteen minutes with nothing but hand tools? I don't think so."

Iroh bent down and picked up a rice hat from amongst the cobblestones.

"This reeks of the Dai Li."

"That is a very bold accusation. You should consult with your mother before you speak of it further, to me or anyone else." Yan said. "There are Earth Kingdom diplomats arriving within the week."

"Since when did you concern yourself with diplomacy?" Iroh asked sharply.

General Yan smiled his crooked, yellow grin.

"Know thy enemy."


	7. Chapter 6: A Kiss

It was that time again. Dusk had come quickly, hurrying to lay its ashen cloak over the land as the sun retreated behind the western horizon. As it fled, the last rays of its light beamed through the tower windows and illuminated the lazy curls of smoke that surrounded him.

Lieutenant Yang was sitting on a desk, pressing his head comically against the radio operator's headphones so he could hear what was being said. The operator was unusually busy, the ash on his cigarette about three inches long and threatening to come loose at any moment.

The radios had been brought up here soon after the events of that day, as the existing lines were ancient, and not used to so much traffic. Rumors and outright fables were sweeping through the city like a fog, and the mood was tense. Some said the army had brutally slaughtered protestors, while others said they had dropped their spears and fled before the mob. In truth, there had only been one fatal injury, a street musician, and the group of soldiers had broken up the scene immediately, although not without several nasty injuries, most from flying rocks.

A pair of NCOs were standing by one of the windows, deep in conversation. Occasionally one of them would raise a pair of binoculars to his face and scan the sprawling cityscape. It gave him a strange feeling to think that his enemies were out there now too, the one place he thought he was safe: home. With every passing hour the palace seemed more like a fortress in a hostile land than a place of authority.

Iroh almost jumped out of skin when Yang tapped him.

"Why don't you get some rack-time? I've got it covered here, and there's nothing new coming in on the wires. If something happens I'll send a runner to wake you up."

"Alright." Iroh said.

As soon as he had said it, he felt exhausted. He could almost feel the weight of responsibility come off his shoulders, although it never left him entirely. He descended the stairs and traipsed through the large, carpeted halls lined with paintings of Fire Lords past. The fact that one day, for better or worse, his portrait would be up on those walls did not comfort him in the slightest.

As he passed the door to the courtyard he noticed that it had been left open, and the stiff autumn breeze called to him. He walked up the hill to the shrine, absentmindedly staring at his feet as they made little craters in the grass. From a distance, he could hear the repetitive call-and-response chants of a cadre of palace guard as they did evening calisthenics.

"When I go out, the ladies they will say-"

"**When I go out, the ladies they will say!"**

"How do you earn your living?"

"**How do you earn your living?"**

"How do you earn your pay?"

"**How do you earn your pay?"  
**

"And I reply in a very loud tone-"

"**And I reply in a very loud tone!"**

"I earn my living in the battle-zone."

"**I earn my living in the battle-zone!**"

When he looked up, someone was already sitting in front of the shrine.

He turned and began to walk away. He wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Please, don't go."

The words stopped him cold. He turned once again to find her looking at him. Despite himself, he came back and sat down, facing the monolith. There was a long silence.

"Something is troubling you."

Iroh nodded. It was perfectly true, and probably readily apparent on his face, so there was no use in denying it.

"Would you like to tell me about it?" She said.

Iroh opened his mouth, and then shut it again. _Should he confide in her? _He wondered. He had half a mind to go by the book and say nothing, these were sensitive matters of national security after all, but there again, the evidence of his problem was readily apparent. She would have seen the smoke and heard the commotion. There was no use in pretending everything was fine.

"When I became a soldier, I swore an oath to the citizens of the Fire Nation." He said. "I never dreamed that my own subjects would one day become my enemy."

He paused, but she remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I just... don't know if I can make that call, if the time comes."

He turned his head to look at her, to gauge what effect this statement had. Would she revile him? Call him a traitor? Or would she simply agree that it was a difficult choice, leaving him right back where he had started?

"Have you heard the tale of Rohk, the dragon kami?"

Iroh nodded.

"I think my mother read it to me once, as a child."

"Rohk came upon the wandering thief, Nakamura, and though his crimes were many, Rohk forgave him because he only took from the tables that were full, and only gave it to those that had no food to eat at all."

He had not expected this. It was his turn to be silent.

"You must do what is necessary to preserve our nation, and whatever happens, you must _forgive_ yourself."

Iroh sat and stared. He was beginning to see this noble's daughter in a new light.

"I'm glad you think so, Miss Zhao." was all he could manage.

He felt a warmth on his hand, and glanced down to see her palm resting upon his. He hadn't realized until now how many calluses he had. It was as if he was made out of grit and sandpaper, and her of polished marble. Suddenly his face felt very hot, although the evening was cold.

"You are our future Fire Lord. Your word is beyond reproach." She said, leaning in closer. "By the way, you can call me Akuzi."

Then she kissed him, and for once, Iroh did not give a damn who was looking.


	8. Chapter 7: Calm Before The Storm

It was an odd group that strode through the square, towards the upturned box that the whole crowd was gathered around. People shifted out of their way like water at the passing of lava. Four solid men that nobody could recall seeing before were grouped around a rather short and scrawny man in traditional Sun Warrior garb. When they reached the box the men took up positions on all sides, facing the crowd with their arms clasped behind their backs. It did not register with any of those present that this was a classic earthbending stance, which was fortunate. Zaro wanted to seem a voice in the darkness, not the puppet of a foreign government, as was closer to the truth.

As he stepped onto the box, the strongest of the men whispered something to him.

"Keep it short and sweet. The army will come down on us like a ton of bricks once they realize what is going on."

Zaro pretended outwardly that he had not heard a word of this, and the crowd roared as he ascended his platform. They had become accustomed to him here in the market quarter these past few weeks. Every few days he would be up on his box talking about this or that. He never had any notes, nor did he read from a script. His topics varied, but the subject was always the same: the "common people". The crowds ate it up, and soon he had attracted more attention. His weekly audience grew in direct proportion to his fervor.

One day, several burly fellows had forced their way into his residence and had a very frank exchange of views with him. They were not the army, nor were they the secret police, the military police, or the police police. As a matter of fact, they were earthbenders.

This fact had greatly distressed him at first, as he considered himself, if nothing else, a loyal citizen of the Fire Nation. The presence of several very large men blocking his exits had dissuaded him from running or calling for help, however, and as time passed he realized that the men were not there to beat him or drag him off, they were there to talk.

Zaro liked to talk. He had babbled incessantly as a child, his mother had told him, and in school prided himself on being able to verbally out-perform all of his peers and even some of his elders, much to their annoyance. They talked about the Fire Nation, and the Earth Kingdom, and the state of the world, with which Zaro was not happy. They seemed to share this sentiment. They also seemed to be quite well-versed with the speeches he had been giving, going so far as to quite entire passages from memory and questioning him about what he had meant.

By-and-by, Zaro had found himself actually... agreeing with these people. After all, didn't they want what he wanted? An end to the monarchy and the return of the sages, who served the common people's wishes in times past? It was not long before they had agreed to help him in his speaking effort, mainly by shielding him from heckling and harassment.

It was all highly fishy of course, but Zaro wasn't asking questions. Friends were hard to come by, real or fake, and if these people wanted to help him spread his message, he was not going to turn it down. The common folk of the Fire Nation were being cheated. Their future was being rolled back at the whim of the generals and their puppet, the Fire Lord. The people had right to know the truth.

"Friends, firebenders, countrymen!" He boomed, and the crowd roared. They were tired. Eager. Angry.

"The people of this nation have asked for so little: Bread, work, a purpose, and the rich and powerful have given their answer: truncheons, curfews, and tyranny!"

More people were gathering around. A thrill went through Zaro. He had never had this many listeners. The crowd seemed to grow by the minute.

"What do they know of work? When have the aristocrats ever dirtied their silks with the commoner's trade? Never! They stay in their country estates, their summer homes and their palaces, where they don't have to watch us work our fingers to the bone for their empire!

What do they know of sacrifice? We've lost digits, limbs, family and friends! Young children toil in filth, always with the danger of being sucked into the gears, or of cutting themselves on a loom, while their pampered spawn are sent to the best universities and the finest schools!

What do they know of achievement? We've given our lives to make our children's just one inch better, and all they've managed to do is destroy our nation, drag it's honorable flag through the mud and put us at the mercy of foreigners!"

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a break in the throng of people. Red uniforms were pressing forward, trying to reach him, but he paid them no mind.

"Enough I say! It is time for the people who built this nation to reclaim it from those that would destroy it, and it is time for the spirit of the Fire Nation to reemerge. Rich land owners did not build this nation, we did! We built it with our sweat, our tears, and the blood of our sons, spilled on distant fields of battle! This nation doesn't belong to them, it belongs to us!"

* * *

Iroh swilled his coffee around the bottom of the mug pensively, staring into it as though its dregs were tea leaves that held some clue to his future.

"The strike started on the factory floor and spread throughout the whole facility. Production for all lines in the plant have ceased, and the steel-pourers left their stations in solidarity as well. The first day was peaceful and there were negotiations with army personnel but last night several detectives were ambushed as they tried to conduct surveillance and the men were brutally beaten. The local garrison moved in to break the strike, but they were delayed by conflicting orders from the governor of the island and when they arrived considerable damage had already been done to the machinery. Several belts were broken on the weapons-stamping line and vats of molten metal were spilled across the train tracks, rendering them useless."

Lieutenant Yang read off of a telegraph printout, his feet propped up on an empty chair. They were supposed to be eating lunch, but when the bad news reached him, Iroh had lost his appetite.

"What about casualties?"

"Several of the strikers are dead, as well as one soldier. Dozens of wounded on both sides, the exact numbers are unclear, reports are still coming in. The factory was re-taken, but its going to take time to get it operational again and to sort out who the ringleaders were."

"It can't be the unions, they were disbanded."

Lieutenant Yang shrugged.

"Who knows. Are you going to eat that?"

Iroh pushed his plate towards Yang, who snatched up the sandwich and began devouring it.

"What were their demands?" Iroh said.

"The usual. Shorter pay, longer hours. Sick leave."

It infuriated him that he could do little to help the situation. He could give orders, sure, but his mother was in charge, and as Fire Lord she had the final say on everything.

"Can you get a message to the captain of the watch?"

"Of course." Yang said, sitting up straight.

"Tell him that his men need to move with discretion. Tempers are high. The last thing we want is more martyrs."

"I can tell him, but I don't know how much discretion you can expect from the watch. Most of them couldn't even spell the word."

"Just do it." Iroh said impatiently.

Yang stood, saluted stiffly, and walked away. He doubled back once, to take the other half of the sandwich with him. As soon as he had left the room Iroh let out a great sigh. No one was asking the right questions. Nobody seemed to be concerned with where this rebellious attitude was coming from, only how to counteract it. Iroh didn't buy that it was simply about the economy. The Fire Nation had seen hard times before, it was only now that it seemed to incite treason instead of solidarity. Perhaps the times had changed while he was away. Perhaps they had never been a united nation in the first place, just a collection of people waiting to come apart at the seams at the first sign of trouble.

* * *

The watch officers were tossed to and fro like ants in a thunderstorm. Twice they attempted to get through the mass of human bodies and up to the platform that the old man was shouting from, and twice they were rebuffed. Nobody was outright resisting, but they did not hop to either side as was customary for any citizen who didn't wish to be arrested on the spot for impeding an investigation, or some similar charge.

Nobody was elbowing or shoving, but each time they ventured into the press of bodies they were pushed back out.

"This is no good, we have to get more men. Tenzu! Front and center!"

"Yes sir!" A young officer shouted above the din.

"Go down the street and bang on bang on the garrison commanders door. We'll make sure he doesn't get away, but you have to move fast. Once this crowd breaks up I don't know if I'll be able to keep him from slipping away."

The young man, just a boy really, sprinted away, glad to be given something to do that didn't involve wading into a hostile crowd. The remaining watch fanned out and surrounded the speaker's podium as best they could, although if the group decided to disperse there would be nothing they could do to stop it.

They didn't have to wait long. Soon enough, a file of militia marched into the square, three abreast. The commander was almost as young as the messenger he had sent to fetch him.

"What's going on here?"

"I don't know exactly, but there's crime being committed and I have my orders. You're not allowed to hold a public gathering without a permit. We've been trying to arrest that guy for at least a quarter of an hour."

The militia commander brushed past him, signalling his men to follow.

"I'll handle it."

Before the watch sergeant could do anything, a huge gout of flame burst to life inches above the heads of the crowd. A great scream of panic went up, and people began to flee. The militia pressed forward as the crowd melted away, firing more warning shots into the air, flame dripping from their fists. Several rocks seemed to come out of nowhere, smashing into helmets and chest plates with devastating accuracy. Zaro was nowhere to be seen.

Not everyone was running, though. Amidst the stampede to be somewhere else, anywhere else, groups of men and women stood facing the soldiers, anger etched in their faces. What happened next was never repeated in Fire Nation history, before or since.

* * *

The stone made a faint shriek as it was pulled across the length of the blade. Sharpening a katana was not like sharpening one of the standard issue short swords. It was not about creating and edge, the edge was already hidden in the blade, it was his job to rub away just enough of the softer metal to reveal it. It took a series of whetstones, each decreasing in roughness until the last one, which was little more than a spherical piece of sandpaper. To get it into the perfect condition took patience. Soft strains of jazz were wafting out of the radio by his bedside.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in." Iroh said.

The door swung open, and there stood Akuzi. Her smile was as white as her dress.

"Hello. I hope I'm not barging in on you."

"Never."

Iroh sheathed the sword and set it aside, scooting over a little. She came and sat on his bed, staring up at his walls, which were practically carpeted with mementos of his past. Maps and posters and paintings, and one gleaming medallion, a unit citation badge.

"Who is that?" She asked, pointing to a portrait of a rather portly officer with a wide grin.

"My namesake." Iroh replied. "My mothers uncle, the first Iroh. I never met him, but he's one of my heroes."

"Oh?"

"He reminds me that every great leader has one great mistake." Iroh said.

"Then what's your greatest mistake?" Akuzi asked, casually.

Iroh raised an eyebrow.

"That would assume I was a great leader."

"Of course you are, everybody knows how you saved that Fire Nation colony."

Iroh laughed, taking a look around the walls that he usually took for granted.

"Saved isn't the word I would use. What did they tell you?"

"It was in the news before you got back, big diplomatic flap. The Fire Lord described how you saved Toko from an Earth Kingdom army. At first we thought the war was on for sure but... the Earth King did nothing."

"It was more complicated than that." Iroh said. "We didn't come there to fight at all, we came to rescue them from an infestation of bugs that were destroying their village. Most of the people living there were Earth Kingdom citizens."

He trailed off, thinking back to those cold nights spent on the ground, or the floor of some stranger's house, and... her. That long dark hair and those penetrating green eyes. Yana had occupied his mind almost every day since he had left the front, but he still hadn't mailed her like he had promised. What would he say?

* * *

Iroh's eyes glazed over. It seemed as if he was trying to recall a childhood memory, one that kept slipping away. Akuzi let this continue for a few seconds and then brought him gently back to earth.

"Iroh?"

"Wha?" Iroh said, jerking out of his reverie.

"You were saying most of them were Earth Kingdom citizens?"

"Right. Then the Earth King or ones of his proxies decided to get involved. There was a unit in the area, and they came up over the hill and surrounded us. The general ordered us to leave. We didn't."

A shadow fell over Iroh's face. For a moment he looked transformed, years older.

"The next morning they came down on us like a ton of bricks. That's when the killing started."

Iroh paused again, but this time he seemed perfectly lucid. His face contorted briefly into a grimace.

"Sorry, I don't think I can tell this story yet. It's too soon."

"That's quite alright." Akuzi said. She regretted bringing up the subject so casually.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

"Sure. I could use some fresh air." Iroh replied, looking relieved.

* * *

The gardens were in the lower tier of the castle, and they faced south, opposite the parade grounds. Leaves lay strewn about, displaying all the fiery hues of autumn against a backdrop of grass. A chilly breeze caused them to stir gently, but not yet to take flight like they would in winter, when the rains came.

"I'm just frustrated, that's all. The security is like a leash. I hardly ever get a chance to leave the palace, and when I do there's always an escort following me, whether I ask for one or not."

"I can understand why your mother did it though, I mean, the death threats..."

"-will come true if we don't find a way to fix this. If there is a solution, it's going to be out there, not in here." Iroh replied.

They sat down at one of the stone benches. Akuzi craned her head back and stared up at the sky.

Darkness had already fallen like a velvet curtain, and through small holes in the curtain points of white light shone down. The sway tree limbs made them twinkle like diamonds as they came in and out of view. A cooing noise filtered through the branches, and a small dove fluttered awkwardly onto Iroh's arm rest, which he was not using. It did a little two step and looked up at him inquisitively. It's neck plumage contorted as it made that same, lilting coo.

"That one likes you, I think." Akuzi said, giggling.

Iroh reached out a finger and tapped the bird on the head gently. It let out another coo, this one sounding slightly indignant.

"I feed them at this spot almost every day. This guy is probably one of my regulars."

"So he knows you then?"

"I suppose. Most of my mother's court ignores them or shoos them away. It was the gardeners that taught me how to get them to come close." Iroh said. "It's funny, the birds in the Earth Kingdom will eat almost anything, stale bread, rotten meat, crushed fruit rations, but the doves in this courtyard won't eat anything other than stuff from the kitchens."

"If the palace burned to the ground they would be in a lot of trouble."

"Yeah, good things this place is mostly made of stone." Iroh said, scratching the dove's head.

The creature eyed his palm with one of it's yellow pupils for a moment and then whipped around and pinched it with it's short, stubby little beak.

"Shit!" Iroh hissed, yanking his hand away. The bird flew off and Iroh grasped at the cut in exasperation.

"Did you see that? Spoiled rotten."

"Maybe you should stop feeding that one." Akuzi said.

She had an easy, tinkling laugh that Iroh enjoyed hearing. It calmed him, let his thoughts settle on more trivial things.

"You can tell they think they're simply the greatest birds ever conceived of, too. They can't even sing well."

"I think it's rather pretty." Akuzi said, crossing her arms.

"The birds in Toko knew how to sing. Every day we woke up at dawn and it was like being serenaded by an orchestra composed entirely of woodwinds."

He then attempted to imitate some of the songs he had heard, chirps, warbles and whistles. His recital was cut short by footsteps. It was Yang.

"Goddamnit Yang, can't I have a moment in peace?"

"Apparently not. Come on, there's something you have to see."

That was when the siren started. It was a long, blaring klaxon that rose and fell, first distant but growing nearer and nearer as it was cranked up to full power. Iroh looked over at Akuzi.

"Go. Do what you have to do."


	9. Chapter 8: Do or Die

The noise washed over them in waves as they stood atop the ramparts. There were so many voices it simply sounded like a buzz, a distant clatter of shout and cries that were growing closer and closer by the minute. Several large crowds were moving towards the palace walls, setting fires and clashing with the overwhelmed police and militia as they went.

Iroh was no longer looking at the city like a citizen. He no longer saw landmarks and old haunts, he saw enfillade and deffilade, choke points and hardened cover. Never in a million years had he expected to regard his own birthplace in the same cold and calculated manner as he had surveyed a dozen battlefields previously, both in real life and in training exercises. There was no more time for doubt, but there was a little time left to plan.

"Are they out of their fucking minds?" Iroh murmured, almost revently. "What are they going to do when they reach the wall, climb it?"

"Maybe. Maybe they'll just break it down."

Iroh let the binoculars fall slack against his chest as he looked at Yang. After so much deadpan humor and idle joking, it was hard to tell when Yang was being serious, but as Iroh looked into his eyes he knew that the young Lieutenant was deadly serious.

"So you think..."

"I do. Look at the way they're moving. That's not a mob, it's a formation. The Dai Li are behind this, there's no other explanation."

"Then we have to rally the palace guard and go disperse them. If they reach the walls, it's over, it won't matter how hard we trained because there won't be any suitable fighting positions left to defend."

"Shall I order the Cadre forward?"

"Yes, tell them to remove the heads from their spears and muster in full kit at the south gate."

Yang hesitated.

"Remove the tips, are you sure? That crowd doesn't look too friendly."

"We're not there yet, Lieutenant." Iroh said.

"By the looks of things we soon will be." Yang replied, turning and jogging down the steps three at a time.

Iroh followed him down just as the doors to the second ring opened. IIIV Cadre was mostly composed of people like himself: the children of nobles and notable Fire Nation dignitaries. They were a green bunch, but they had drilled hard under his command and it showed.

"Cadreee, about- FACE!" Yang shouted.

There was a great crunch as they all set their spear shafts down in unison. Formalities abandoned under pressure, Iroh addressed them directly.

"Listen up! This is the real thing. In a moment we're going to go through the south gate and move to support the city watch as it tries to break up these riots. Remember, think before you act! Whatever treason these people have committed, they are still subjects of the Fire Nation. Your spears shafts are blunt, but they are not non-lethal. Try to only engage where necessary."

Iroh was about to say more but something caught his eye. General Yan could move suprisingly fast when he wanted to, despite his advancing age.

"Whats going on here?" He demanded.

"I'm getting the men ready to go out and assist, sir." Iroh replied.

"No, it won't do you any good. Units better trained then yours have already been cut to pieces out there. If we let them coax us out of our shell they will crush us."

"Sir, with all due respect, they're going to crack our shell if we let them. I have reason to believe that there are Dai Li agents among the crowd."

Yan scratched his chin. The smell of smoke grew stronger. The fires were spreading now, and the dead of night was now almost as bright as day, save for the long, flickering shadows.

"That would explain how an untrained bunch of street rats has managed to get this far. Tell your men to put their speartips back on and dig in right here. We're going to need them."

"Shouldn't we be on the wall, sir?" Iroh asked.

"If you're right, they won't bother climbing it, they'll just break right through. There is another army unit coming through the south gate any minute. I'll have them man that portion, you keep your Cadre in reserve."

"Understood." Iroh replied.

A second later a massive section of the street outside, complete with cobblestones, earth, weeds and piping crashed to earth meters away from them, showering the entire cadre with dirt and rocks. The barrage of stone only got more intense from there. General Yan gave him one last look and vanished into the folds of his bodyguard.

"Cadreee, form- LINE! Three ranks! Rounded ends! Dig those fighting holes!"

The unit frantically moved into place and began digging with their entrenching tools. The lovingly manicured grass and gravel gave way easily under the savage assault of pick and shovel. Moments later the gates were unlatched and a platoon-sized contingent of army regulars sprinted through, all order forgotten. Iroh caught a blast of the raw, angry noise that was following just a few blocks behind them before the gate was shut again and bolted. Now there were fireballs shooting over the top of the gatehouse as well. The troopers looked exhausted and were sweating profusely, but they dashed up the steps to the top of the wall and began giving as good as they got from behind the relative saftey of the battlements. Two officers ran up to him and saluted, one tall and grim looking, the other stocky, with a dark goatee. He recognized them instantly.

"What- what the fuck are you guys doing here?" He said, incredulously.

"I made Lieutenant," Toranaga said, cheerful as ever. "I guess they want their money's worth."

"We're certainly about to earn our pay. Glad you could join us. Small world, huh?"

"And getting smaller by the moment." Zumi said, as if to remind them that there was a battle going on.

"Right." Iroh said, turning to see the wooden gates shudder as the crowd smashed something against them. "You keep your men on the wall as long as you can. We'll catch up when this is over."

"Cadreee, fix- SPEAR HEADS!" Yang shouted above the din.

There was a deep rumble, and a patch of wall to the right of the gate deformed outwards, the stones cracking out of their masonry and tumbling onto the ground.

"They're coming through! Get ready to supress them!" Toranaga shouted from the top of the wall.

Come through they did, like a blind star mole forcing its way through the earth, a hole opened up, growing wider by the moment. He could see the crowd behind it, swarming, itching to get even a single blow in on their percieved oppressors. Crude fireballs were launched through the rapidly widening portal, and Iroh gave the order to respond in kind, which Yang relayed. The cadre dumped their shovels next to their spears and crouched down, sending jets of flame spitting back. This seemed to do the trick for a few moments, but soon another hole had opened up farther down the wall to the right, away from their fighting positions. Heedless of his own saftey, Iroh ran over to this spot alone, and poured fire through it as soon as the hole was as big around as a fist. He could hear screaming from the other side, and maintained the ferocity of the blaze as long as he could. Hopefully they would think twice before approaching it again.

"Iroh, look out!"

It was Zumi. Iroh looked left, then right. There was a mob advancing towards him down the gap between the first and second walls. In the distance he could see huge, billowing clouds of smoke coming from the western gatehouse. He turned and ran back to his unit as fast as his feet would carry him. There was no time for strategy, only tactics. Luckily Yang knew what order he wanted given before he had time to verbalize it.

"Cadreee, shift- RIGHT!"

The palace guard stopped pelting the hole with fire and grabbed their spears, turning the line so that it extended three deep from the left side of the gate to the second wall. This meant that many of them had to abandon the fighting holes they had just dug, leaving them vulnerable to the continued hail of rocks. A particularly large boulder shattered the gatehouse, sending men and debris flying down on top of their formation. The two other holes that they had been supressing widened dramtically, until the wall above them could no longer support their weight. An entire section of the wall some fifteen feet long crumbled into rubble, enveloping them in a choking cloud of dust.

"Steady!" Yang screamed. "Spears level!"

Three ranks of wikedly sharp points came down to the horizontal, menacing the mob as it came, but it was no use. They didn't care. Iroh watched in abject horror as his own subjects sprinted headlong into the thicket of spears. Not a single one of them made it past. Some hacked at the long poles with knives or hand scythes, but they were made of solid ash and didn't deform easily. Others tried to shove the long implements aside and get through to their enemy, but the cadre had trained for this. Other spears shifted, impaling the would-be assailants. Rocks and fire pummeled them, and soon the first row's spears were shattered to bits.

"FIRST RANK PULL BACK AND SUPPORT!" Iroh ordered. He felt the bile rise in his throat, but there was no time to contemplate right and wrong. If they didn't defend themselves they would surely die.

The first line of soldiers tossed their useless spear shafts at the enemy and retreated behind their comrades, switching to firebending. This gave them some breathing room, and already some of the crowd was fleeing, mostly the non-benders who had gotten swept up in the fervor. Those who could bend, however, continued to throw themselves at Iroh's formation. The regulars up on the wall began to come back down to support their beleagured comrades, but it was too little too late. Portions of his line had grown weak, and in some places only one soldier prevented a total breakthrough and envelopment. Soon enough, that is exactley what happened.

Iroh could see the Dai Li moving among the enemy, tossing a rock here, breaking a spear there. Soon the carefully planned line of skirmish was no more than a brawl between rival benders, their other weapons forgotten. Iroh was at the center of this whirlwind. He was no longer shouting orders, there was only time to survive another second, and another after that.

Then everything went dark.


	10. Chapter 9: Red Mist

He was back. There were the fields of grass. Yonder lay the mountains. His enemy surrounded him. Tanks and men, men and tanks. He was sitting in the hatch of his vehicle, the familiar weight of his binoculars resting against his sternum. This was a memory, and he already knew how it would end. It would end with fire and rock and blood and death. But he had no choice. He had to do it.

The tank lurched forward, it's tracks clanking and clattering, the rich smell of diesel filling his nose.

"Iroh."

He checked his radio. Nothing. Who would be trying to contact him now, when they were heading into the teeth of the assualt?

"Iroh."

He looked back at the village, down at the ground. Nobody but his tanks. No one but his soldiers. Who was calling him?

"Iroh!"

He felt a harsh slap on his cheek, and woke with a start.

The clatter was real, and so were the tanks, but he was not riding in one. They filed into the courtyard surrounding the palace, their turrets swiveling. Some of them pulled carts full of men and supplies. Other dismounted troops rushed through, their uniforms still clean and unsullied by battle. Yang was crouched at his side where he lay.

"Wake up buddy. We need you. The reinforcements are here."

Iroh cradled his head, which felt like a bell that had just been rung by a sledgehammer. His fingers felt the crackle of dried blood as the strands of hair seperated.

"Spirits... augh... did you have to slap me?"

"Sorry sir, I couldn't wait around for you to finish your nap. You're the highest ranking officer around here."

Iroh was taken aback.

"What? What about my mother? What about General Yan?"

"Both hiding underground, along with the rest of the general staff. They've transfered authority to you. Damn cowards. No offence to your mother, of course..."

"Don't worry, I'm not about to mention it." Iroh said, standing up and taking in the full scene.

The gardens were a mess. His grandfather Zuko had planted them, shunning the dark volcanic ash of his father's courtyard for a wide green pasture dotted with flower beds. Most of them had been crushed. There were burn marks in the grass where particularly hot fireballs had fallen to earth. Even some of the rocks looked like they had been heated before being launched. The noise was still deafening, although the tempo had slackened somewhat. Hundreds of firebenders were still at the walls pelting anyone who came too close. He was relieved to see that some of them wore the uniform of the palace guard. At least some of his unit had survived, although doubtless many were now dead and wounded. He put that thought out of his mind. There would be plenty of time to agonize over what he could have done differently later, he knew that.

To his right lay the low hill and the monument. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Akuzi and the Zhao family praying fervently. When he looked towards the vast steps leading up to the palace doors he saw clusters of noblemen and women huddled around their families.

"Why are they still outside?" Iroh asked, pointing.

"Nowhere else to go." Yang replied. "The palace is all locked up, as per standard procedure. The rebels pretty much own the second ring except for the north gate, and everything outside that... I just don't know. All the communication lines have been cut."

"Fancy that. North gate, huh? Is that where all these guys are coming from?" Iroh said, gesturing to the tanks and men pouring in.

"Yep. Just before the lines went down the call went out to any and all units. We're only going to get stronger from here."

"Then I have orders, if you're ready to relay them."

Yang stood up, tying off a bandage on his arm and retrieving his katana from the ground.

"I'm ready."

"Tell them to form up in two groups and sweep the outer ring clean. Once that's done do the same thing for the outside. Tanks first, infantry following. Set up a perimeter. As you get more reinforcements, start breaking off groups and sending them into the city."

"What about rules of engagement?"

Iroh gave him a look that he hoped conveyed his attitude.

"Okay, I get it, weapons free."

The lieutenant rushed off to spread the word, and Iroh looked back towards the shrine just in time to see something happen that would change him forever. At the base of the wall to his right another hole was opening up. This one was larger and faster than anything he had yet seen. Before the men atop the palisades even had time to cry out in alarm, the wall crumbled and buried them under it's own weight. All the soldiers near to the breakthrough concentrated their fire on it. Through the cloud of smoke and flames another mob came charging through. They held flat slabs of earth ahead of them like shields, deflecting the fury of the defenders. He watched, almost in slow motion, as the very earth reached up to entrap Akuzi and her family. They flailed uselessly against their restraints. Obviously they were wanted alive as bargaining chips, but Iroh didn't have time to register this on a concious level. The Dai Li agents pounded up the hill towards them. Iroh was running the same direction as fast as his feet would carry him. He didn't remember begining to move, nor did he remember drawing his katana.

At the moment he reached the base of the hill, there was only one earthbender between him and the Zhao family. The burly man turned to face him, stomped the ground, and kicked the resulting clods of earth at him with an impressive force. He was far too slow, though. Iroh's head ducked underneath one and clove the other clean in two with his sword. The blade kept going, slicing the man from shoulder to armpit. As he fell, Akuzi came into view again. She had managed to pull one hand free when a rock whistled out of nowhere and smacked her square in the temple.

There was no blood, but Iroh could see the life leave her eyes almost immediately. He had seen that blank stare too many times to mistake it for unconciousness.

The sword fell from his hands. He drew even with the shrine. Her limp body was at his feet.

A fury unlike anything he had ever felt in his life coiled up his spinal column like a red mist. Without bidding it, the fire came. He poured into it every emotion he felt, every ounce of frustration, loss and hatred. It boiled around him like a typhoon, scorching and burning and killing. Dai Li agents withered under the unexpected storm of heat, the enemy soldiers and their abettors turned to carbon in an instant. Inside the eye of it, Iroh was screaming, but nobody could hear him. It only stopped when he had no more energy to sustain it.

There were no survivors to flee back through the gap.

Where men once stood, only blackened, twisted shadows remained, but he had no eyes for them. He had eyes only for Akuzi. Her dress lay around her like a crumpled flower as he fell to his knees on the single, circular patch of grass left unscatched. Not even her own family would approach as Iroh craddled her in his arms.

The tears came like a rain that had been held back by the clouds far too long.


	11. Chapter 10: The Hammer Falls

Lao couldn't stop shaking. He had managed to confine it to just his left hand as he paced back and forth across the sumptuous oriental rug, stopping at each curtained window to peer out at the street. The hammer was coming down. That much he knew for certain. Where and when was still being decided, but his years of experience in service of the Dai Li left him with an innate ability to gauge when his luck was running out.

"Where is Zaro?"

"I haven't been able to reach him, all the phone lines are down."

The Fire Sage was in the kitchen making himself something to eat for the third time this hour. Lao hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but fear overpowered his rumbling stomach, an emotion that Mizak did not seem to share.

"Then we are already dead." He muttered. "The spooks are on their way."

"Oh, for spirits sake Lao, stop being so mopey! We accomplished a great deal. The royalists have really been rattled."

"We weren't in this to rattle them, Mizak, we were in this to kill them, remember? They won't stop now. We kicked the buzzard-wasps nest"

"Yes, I remember. But you have to play with the hand life gives you. The Fire Lord can't touch me, I'm too important to her, and if she can't touch me, she can't touch you either."

There was a sharp rap at the door.

"Ah, that will be them. You'll be out of here in no time, Lao, just you watch-"

He opens the door and a fist lands squarely on his fat jaw, sending him keeling over backwards.

"Internal Security Directorate. Mind if we take a look around?" The man said sarcastically, taking care to tread on Mizak's belly as he walked over the threshold. Two other ISD agents grabbed him and hauled him upright, slamming him against the wall.

"Kitchen clear!"

"Dining room clear!"

"So you thought you could get away with treason, huh Mizak?"

"N-no, I never-"

"Shut up." The man growled. "You thought you could fool the Fire Lord. You're about to find out how wrong you are."

From the next room there was a scuffle and a shout.

"I got one! Earthbender!"

Lao was dragged unceremoniously into the hallway and deposited on the carpet, his feet still raw from where he had perched on the windowsill, deciding whether or not to leap to the street six stories below. It was a decision he had not made in time.

"Ask me, worm." The man in his face said, unperturbed by the new arrival, who was being shackled as they spoke.

"Ask you, wh-what?" Mizak blustered.

"Ask me how wrong you are."

With a wickedly sharp knife pressing against the fatty part of his neck, Mizak was in no condition to refuse.

"How wrong am I?"

The man smiled.

"Dead wrong."

All across the city, similar scenes played themselves out. Strong feet kicked in doors. People were grabbed by their shirt collars and thrown to the floor, black bags stuffed over their heads. Some mouths still protested innocence until the moment they were gagged. Others resigned themselves to their fate. All were placed on carts bound for the palace. They were the only ones allowed on the street. Behind shuttered windows and almost closed doorways the rest of the city watched. Some cheered quietly. Some wept.

* * *

Iroh watched as each man and woman was brought before him. They were made to kneel in rows, one after another. As their bags came off, each face was a different story. Some were thick with tears and begged their innocence, claimed they were forced, pleaded for clemency. Others simply stared up at him with hatred or spat at his feet. Iroh paced down each row once, looking each one in the eyes before returning to his chair at the head of this grim formation. There was a slight rustling as they shifted, the sharp gravel of the parade ground digging into their knees.

He had tried to feel mercy for them, but he wasn't finding any, and he wasn't waiting until it came.

The Fire Lord was still underground. He was still in control. For once in his life, he could make the decisions he wanted to without oversight. Never once had he imagined it would be this. When he spoke, his voice was cold, steady, and crystal clear.

"Silence!"

The remaining voices died away. Then came the verdict.

"The Dai Li are to be beheaded. Send their bodies back to the Earth King himself with my regards."

The earthbenders were utterly silent as they were led away. There was not a single trace of emotion. He might have admired their stoicism, if he did not hate them so much. When they were gone, he waved his hand to the remaining soldiers. Two of them stepped forward, each carrying a bundle of katanas. They had belonged to Fire Nation soldiers killed in the battle for the palace. The men walked down the rows, dropping a katana in front of each of the civilian traitors. Each man got his, rich or poor, powerful or weak, Fire Sage or peasant. The noise the metal made as it hit the gravel carried a note of finality.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

* * *

"I gave them a choice. They could either commit suicide with honor, or depart the Fire Nation forever as exiles. Not many of them chose the later."

Iroh was standing, delivering his closing statement. The courtroom was as silent as the grave save for the clacking of Sam's typewriter. What was he doing? Was this not an admission of guilt?

"Those that cannot solve their differences in courtrooms like this one do not have the right to turn our city into a battlefield. Many of them are dead, yes, but many of my men are also dead. Where is their trial? Where is the accounting for the wrongs done to them? Isn't taking them from their wives and their families a more cruel oppression than anything the royal family has done?"

Iroh turned and stared at the jury's box behind Sam, catching each one of their eyes in turn before sitting down. For a fraction of a second those icy blue eyes settled on Sam, and she shivered at the grim sincerity in them. Then he sat down.

"Is that all?" Fire Sage Gorus asked, at length.

"It is your honor." Iroh replied.

Gorus banged his gavel twice.

"Court is adjourned, we will return to order in one hour to hear the jury's verdict."

* * *

Yang caught up to Iroh on the steps of the courthouse. He almost congratulated him on his unanimous acquittal, but at the look on his face he thought better of it.

"There is a memorial service today. Are you going?"

"Of course." Iroh said.

A cold and bitter wind was blowing in from the sea. Iroh flipped up the woolen collar of his coat against it.


	12. Chapter 11: General Iroh

The hushed voices drifted down the hall to him. He pretended to be absorbed in the towering family portraits while he eavesdropped.

"My daughter is stubborn." Grandfather Zuko was saying. "She thinks Iroh overstepped his authority, and she wanted to punish him for it. I approved of the sentiment, if not the... public nature of the trial."

"Then you knew what they would decide?" General Yan said.

"More or less. No one can look at that boy and say they wouldn't have done the exact same thing were their places switched. He may have gone beyond the law, but one must consider the result when criticizing the methods."

"I understand all too well." Yan replied. "We all have our choices to make. Good day."

Out of the corner of his eye, Iroh watched as Yan gave a short bow and departed. He stiffened somewhat as Zuko approached him. It had been some time since they had spoken. His grandfather came to stand beside him, looking up at the larger than life rendering of Fire Lord Sozin. Time had hobbled his once imposing figure, but the glint of steel in his eye was as prominent as ever. He knew that Zuko was waiting for him to speak, but he did not. He had no words left. No words and no tears. Some days he felt like a spirit, wandering the halls of the palace, invisible.

"Believe it or not, I know what you are going through." Zuko said.

Still Iroh said nothing, contenting himself with staring into the fabric eyes of his long dead ancestor.

"In their own lives, people generally try to make the right choice. The thing is, that is a lot easier for a fisherman than for a ruler. Sometimes there are no good choices. Sometimes there are only bad choices and worse choices, and you pick the ones you can live with and move on."

He felt revulsion as Zuko put a hand on his shoulder, and he couldn't quite say why, although he made no move to brush it off.

"When does this go away?"

His voice was more raw than he intended, the question more honest than it had sounded in his mind.

"Never." Zuko said. "You will carry it with you for the rest of your life. Either you can reconcile with that, or you can let it define you."

He paused.

"I don't recommend letting it define you."

The hand left Iroh's shoulder and reached into a gilded pocket to withdraw a familiar velvet box.

"This might not be the best time to tell you, but you've made general."

Iroh turned and accepted the box wordlessly. He cracked it open briefly to glance at the insignia inside and then shut it again. Zuko tried to look him in the eye, but he avoided his gaze.

"I must go. The war council is meeting shortly. I am here if you need anything."

"Thank you grandfather." Iroh said.

Zuko departed, but Iroh remained there, frozen like a statue. Minutes passed like hours. He watched the shadows cast by sunlight striking the pillars creep slowly forward. The box was still in his hand, and its presence burned like a hot coal. He didn't deserve it.

No, it was worse than that. He did deserve it, but he didn't want to. What he had done wasn't an act of skill or valor, it had been a desperate, vicious maneuver, designed to bring the conflict to an end as swiftly as possible. The shame of it seemed to radiate outward from that little felt container, until he wanted to hurl it from him. Instead, it merely slipped through his fingers and fell to the carpet with a muffled thump.

* * *

Every week, General Iroh came back to the now battle-scarred shrine, hoping to see the woman in white sitting there, waiting for him.

Every week Akuzi was not there, and he felt a great ache in his heart that no medicine could touch. The memory was a burn that lay deep in him, and each time he returned to the shrine the brand was reapplied. But he also remembered what she had told him, the tale of Rohk and the thief Nakamura.

"You must do what is necessary to preserve our nation, and whatever happens, you must _forgive_ yourself."

So though the sight of that obsidian rock caused him great pain, it also bound up his wounds. It both repulsed him and drew him. He hated that cruel stone, yet could not bear to stay away.

And every week he returned…

…and every week he was forgiven.

**(A/N: Don't forget to review.)**


	13. Preview of 3:10 to Omashu

A preview of the final fic in the three-part Iroh Chronicles:

**3:10 to Omashu**

After the events of the Chrysanthemum Uprising, Iroh feels more trapped than ever. Harried by the press, denounced as a murderer by his critics and practically crushed under his mother's thumb, he lives a cloistered existence behind the walls of the palace.

A letter arrives from someone claiming to be a friend of Yana, begging for Iroh's help in freeing her from prison in the Earth Kingdom. He decides to leave home in the middle of the night and cross an ocean and a continent to save a girl he hardly knows.

His only help will come from the shadowy External Security Directorate, an organization left over from the hundred-years-war that is so secretive, it exists outside of the Fire Lord's influence altogether, occupying a realm of myth, rumor, and superstition into which Iroh must dive headfirst if he wants to save Yana.

All is not what it seems, however. His enemies are closer than he thinks...

**(Stay tuned folks, I've got more on the way. If you liked this fic, you might like some of the other fics on my profile. Take a look and see if I've written for a fandom you like.)**


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